


Grand

by BoomyMcBlasty



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: A little drinking and a little talking, Character Study, Established Relationship, F/M, Feel-good, Fluff, M/M, Multi, POV Second Person, Romantic Fluff, can work with both male and female PCs, light spoilers, soft, your OC here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27252490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoomyMcBlasty/pseuds/BoomyMcBlasty
Summary: “I feel drunk on choice.” His low voice strokes your ear like a caress.He pulls you closer, framing your hips with his legs. “I can do whatever I want. Although…”
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Male Character(s), Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Reader, Astarion/Charname (Baldur's Gate)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 194





	Grand

**Author's Note:**

> Light spoilers for an encounter in the Underdark.

A wine bottle idles in Astarion’s hand. He’s sitting with his back against yours, enjoying the stillness of the night with you until you voice a stray thought.

“What will you do after this is over?”

It’s a question Astarion has asked you himself. Many days have passed since then; the impending doom feels less daunting, the wine he so much despises yet you find tolerable makes you tongue a bit looser.

“Whatever do you mean?” His voice has a singsong quality to it that toes the line between flattery and mockery. He reclines his head on your shoulder; his hair tickles your ear.

You take the bottle from his loose grip. It’s a watered-down red, almost delicate. 

“You know, when we get rid of the parasite and pierce Cazador’s heart with a stake.”

Astarion hums in contemplation. “I don’t know.”

Yours is a cruel question—you don’t even know if he’ll survive removing the parasite. That’s the reason you placed Omeluum’s ring on his finger—to give Astarion a way out, should he require one.

Then, he laughs. “I feel drunk.” You single out a note of triumph in his voice. “Not on this awful wine, no—you drink the rest.” He parts from you and turns around, then you feel his chest press against your back.

“I feel drunk on choice.” His low voice strokes your ear like a caress. He pulls you closer, framing your hips with his legs. “I can do whatever I want. Although…” He hesitates, wraps an arm around your shoulders to buy time. “Centuries of torment have dulled my mind. I can’t think of anything I’d like to do. In the long-term, of course—I can think of a thousand ways to entertain myself for a night or two.”

“Wouldn’t you like…”  _ Wouldn’t you like to be a magistrate again _ , you were about to suggest, before remembering that many would consider Astarion an abomination and would refuse to be ruled by him. “What about your life before Cazador?”

“I told you that I don’t remember much of it.” You can’t see his face, but you can  _ hear  _ him pouting.

“There must be records left, ways for you to remember.”

Then he chuckles right in your ear, and the shiver that runs down your spine is distracting, but you still notice his forced glee. He only plays you like a fiddle because you _ let him _ .

“Say—and this is an exercise in speculation, a purely hypothetical scenario—what would you do if  _ past me _ turned out to be some sort of…” He makes a vague gesture with his hand. “Less than stellar character?”

You cock your eyebrow, glad that he can’t see your face. “A hypothetical scenario, huh?”

He drums his fingers on your ribs. “Your reaction will determine if it stays that way or not.”

You’d like to think long and hard about what to tell him, but he’s right behind you—stealing your body heat and stealing your breath away with his velvety voice—so you need to take shortcuts.

What would make a magistrate  _ less than stellar _ ? Embezzling? Corruption? You can’t say that you’re not bothered by the many possibilities. A thought slithers in your mind, slick with shame: his crimes have been paid by his enthrallment.

“I’d rather focus on the present than fixate on the past,” you say to him. “And I like what I’m seeing.” 

You feel the tension leave his body; more relaxed, now, he wraps his other arm around you. “That is simply grand.” He rests his head against the nook of your neck, rubs his face against your skin so he can feel your pulse on his lips.

“Getting hungry again?”

He laughs. “For you, my dear?  _ Always _ .”

**Author's Note:**

> I have made Astarion suffer enough™, so here, have some fluffy drinking and talking based on the high approval version of him in a 'good' playthrough. I totally headcanon him being touch-averse yet touch-starved at the same time—if he isn't the one to initiate, he ducks away.


End file.
